


Broken Streak

by lcib



Category: Mona Lisa Smile (2003)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lcib/pseuds/lcib
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's too hot to sleep and they only have uncomfortable things to talk about.</p>
<p>Set several months after the end of the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Streak

In the perpetual half-light of the city she could make out Betty’s outline built in layers of gray, sitting up in bed. The glass of water in Giselle’s hand was warm and she could feel the sweat from her palm slide against the glass. She stepped into the room.

“Hello,” Betty said. She didn’t sound tired, just quiet and sad.

“Hi,” Giselle said. “Can’t sleep?”

She saw Betty’s silhouette shake her head. “Too hot.”

“Tell me about it.” She got closer to the bed and offered the glass. Betty took it, her face tilted towards Giselle, her smile of thanks a shadowy line and her eyes dark. Unsure whether to stay or go, Giselle sat in the spindly chair in the corner of the room. Her thighs, pushed together, were sticky and uncomfortable with sweat.

“I miss it,” Betty said.

“Miss what?”

“Wellesley.”

“Oh,” Giselle said. “Me too. Parts of it.” There were parts of it that she missed so much it made her breath catch in her throat. She thought about crossing her legs and the idea was exhausting. “I miss it in winter.” She saw the dark smile on Betty’s face again.

“No,” she said. “Winter was too cold. I miss fall. Fall was perfect.”

“Ugh,” Giselle said and grinned. “It was too academic. The library was always full of people doing work.” Betty was quiet after that and Giselle knew she’d annoyed her. It was an old habit to proud of Betty’s annoyance, proud to be the cause even though it was against her better interests now that they lived together, just the two of them without the buffer of Joan and Connie. 

“I miss the work too, I think,” Betty said quietly.

Giselle hadn’t thought about it much. “I miss being good at it.” She watched Betty’s grin briefly stretch across her face and knew she agreed. They were silent for a moment as the heat continued to work over them.

“Don’t you think it was strange that we said Miss Watson, but it was always Professor Dunbar,” Betty said.

“He was Bill to me.”

“And weren’t you proud of that, “Betty said, her voice sharp.

Giselle shrugged. “It was just nice. It was fun.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to?”

“At first.” She tried to tell if Betty was mounting an attack or simply curious. “Then it was just nice. He was nice.”

“Did you love him?”

She thought back to Bill’s too-wide smile and the way his arm had draped heavy over her shoulder. “No.” In the dim glow from the tiny window she saw a flicker as Betty stared at her. She didn’t need the light to be able to see the pointed, narrow expression Betty wore, penetrating and disbelieving. “I liked him a lot. And I – ” Betty’s face was still motionless and Giselle felt like she could see through her. “I wanted to love him, I think. But it wasn’t supposed to work. It was a fling, just exciting.” Just good sex, she thought about saying, but Betty was still cold and uncomfortable about sex.

“Were you jealous of Miss Watson?”

Giselle had known Betty would ask that sooner or later and it made her laugh. She wanted a cigarette. “Of course.” Katherine Watson was what they all hadn’t known they wanted to be.

“It was very hard for her,” Betty said.

Giselle laughed again, a hard, sharp snort that pushed her shoulders back uncomfortably against the chair. It wasn’t as though Betty hadn’t spent the year making it very hard for Miss Watson. “Yeah,” she said. “But she still looked great doing it.” 

“Oh come on, Giselle,” Betty said. “Some of those dresses were totally atrocious.” Her voice was brittle, pointing out the obvious with a sting of degradation. 

Giselle shut her eyes and tried not to let her wince show in the half light. It was the heat. She could remember shoulders of burgundy taffeta. “She looked nice at your wedding. That was a great dress.” She pushed her eyelids further together. If she had been thinking clearly she would never have mentioned Betty’s wedding. It was the heat. She wished she had a glass of water of her own, but Betty would stay upset if she got up and came back.

“My wedding,” Betty said shortly and laughed in a way that sounded like a gasp and a sob. “What an awful spectacle.” 

“Betty.” Giselle tried to think of the way she had consoled the other girls at school. They had gone almost three months in the apartment without mentioning it and Giselle wished she hadn’t broken the streak. “Your wedding was beautiful.”

“It was a sham.” Her voice dropped low enough that Giselle could barely hear her.

“It meant something at the time. You were happy.”

“No I wasn’t,” Betty said. Her voice rose again, loosing its brittle quality and becoming shrill instead. “I was so anxious about Spenser reading that poem that I can’t even like anymore and my mother having everything she wanted and you and Miss Watson making a spectacle of yourselves over Bill Dunbar. I hardly remember anything after we left the church.”

Giselle was fairly sure that meant she could remember everything perfectly. “I didn’t know I was that bad.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it,” Betty said quickly. “They’re all gone.”

“We’re not, “ Giselle said quietly. 

“Yes we are,” Betty said. “We’re here and next year they’ll go into the chapel without us. It’ll all go on like we were never even there.” 

Giselle wanted to remind her of the cigarette burns they had left on the tables in their rooms but her exhaustion had crept back to her through the heat. She stood up and cringed as her sticky thighs peeled away from the chair. “I thought you were beautiful at your wedding.” She smiled. “Gorgeous even.”

Betty lifted her head to follow Giselle’s movement across the room. “No you were,” she said, so quietly that Giselle, already halfway out the door, almost didn’t hear her. “I was furious at you for wearing that dressing and looking that good." She laughed softly. "Gorgeous even.” 

She looked back, but Betty had turned away to look out the window, the class of water still held in both hands like a child. She yawned. It was still too hot to sleep, but she was tired. Her feet made hollow creaking wheezes on the floor and she curled around her pillow to dream of fall at Wellesley.


End file.
